


I remember something like that

by rocketkid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Trans Junkrat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketkid/pseuds/rocketkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I mentioned once that Junkrat's robot arm is slightly too long in the reference images, and sort of went off the idea that his mom built it for him. Thanks to trans-junk-rat on tumblr for the ideas!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I remember something like that

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CallaCurieSemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallaCurieSemi/gifts).



> All my Overwatch stuff about the Junkers is roughly the same series, just out of order. Maybe I'll title it someday.

It's between losing his arm and finding the omnium that his mother leaves and doesn't come back. He doesn't measure anything in time except explosions, he just measures it in events. This, then this, then this. He lost his arm, he gained his arm, she left, he found the stuff.  
But that's not how it happened, is it Jamie? No, you were a different person then. Tall for your age, loud for where you lived, always moving. Still learning how to mix the chemicals, it's a wonder you've still got both your eyes.  
She built it long, just a little too long. So you can grow into it, she says. She was sensible like that.  
Her hands were cold, precise, smooth, palms flat or curled as she worked. Not like yours- too jumpy, too eager, too much movement. Her voice was low, skating over the hum and whirr of a drill, gently murmuring, screwdriver in hand. Your voice leapt from note to note, stumbling sometimes to find footing.  
-  
Roadhog is with him when he loses his leg. It's not long after they meet, a little longer before they leave Junkertown. It's nothing special or tragic, and that eats at him later. At least it could've been a good story. It was just a mistake.  
Roadhog's hands are different. They're big, bigger than both his hands, and the callouses are rough around the edges and smooth on the plains. They're surprisingly dextrous, sewing up minor wounds after the main event.  
He feels none of the shock he felt when he lost his arm. He needs none of the placation, which is good because all he gets is the occasional rough shake to keep him awake, boss.  
When he finally is as whole as he can manage, Roadhog lets him rest. In his dream, his mother keeps trying to tell him something, but she sounds like she's just in the other room. It's dark, and he doesn't know if he exists, and it doesn't seem to bother him. It's just her voice, strong and low, carrying him through the night.  
-  
The first thing they do is eat. It's in a seaside town not too far from Junkertown, but far enough into civilization. They get stares, not shocked but rather the quiet perturbed looks of seeing something familiar and repulsive. Junkrat orders seven rounds of fancy drinks, the interesting half, off the menu. Roadhog settled for iced tea. They tip generously but leave in a cloud of smoke.  
They go to the hospital, shoot the place up level by level until they get to surgery. Isn't it just like him, Roadhog thinks but does not say, to shoot the surgeon in the foot then demand treatment. They reach for the leg, but that's not what he wants. Roadhog stands watch, a silent threat of violence, a promise.  
They make their grand escape on a stolen boat weeks later, jugs of water and gasoline clear so you can tell them apart. He hasn't fully healed, but he can't stand to be here any more. He talks about going somewhere greener but far away. A part of Mako thinks it is all for the best that he wants to be free of these islands. A part of Roadhog will miss the wastes.  
-  
He never quite grew into his arm. Hs heard rumors that the shots might make you taller, but he never bought into it anyway. It's been a while, but maybe just a lot has happened. It feels like that.  
He doesn't miss the wastes one bit, not the people who turned on him, tried to turn him in. Not the hot breeze and the filthy water. Now he drinks his tea out of his canteen and he sits in front of the A/C unit jammed in the window. He never wears a shirt unless it's cold, and his voice still jumps from note to note and his hands still twitch.  
He still dreams about her, he thinks. It's mostly colors and noise, memories warped by what could have, should have happened. Sometimes he lives entire lifetimes just to wake up in those arms and let it all drift from his mind. His best dream, one he scribbles down notes on and tacks to the corkboard that came with the room- that dream is about her for sure. In it, she lives somewhere green and fertile, with a few other people. He can see her, and he can hear her, but he never remembers what she says.  
He doesn't say the last part when he's telling Roadhog's half-asleep body. She sees him, and as she walks over to him, time stretches out. When she finally gets there it's as if years have passed. She takes the hand she built him and smiles.


End file.
